


Aconite, Bryony and Quicksilver

by Rhapsodist



Category: Original Work, The Fine Art of Poisoning (2004)
Genre: Anachronistic, Author Commentary, Child Death, Do not post to another site, Gen, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Repost from DeviantArt, victorian gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26859019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhapsodist/pseuds/Rhapsodist
Summary: First her father died and they claimed it was natural causes.Then her little sister perished and they claimed it was just an unfortunate accident.Tynan Coleman knew three things for certain: that her stepmother was responsible, that she was next and that she was not about to go down without a fight.
Kudos: 1





	1. Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> For October I decided to repost an older fic (circa 2010) as it is (with minor proof-reading) for posterity’s sake. It originally had the same title as the short film / song it was inspired by (as DeviantArt doesn’t have the tagging system AO3 has).
> 
> Be gentle; I was young. 
> 
> If there is interest, I may revamp it: make it longer (not novel length though), change the names to be less ‘on the nose’, fix the historical inaccuracies, etc.
> 
> Shout out to James K. & AO3 Support Team for their helpful & prompt reply regarding how to fandom tag this.
> 
> The short film that inspired it can be seen (for free) [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3uJEiDETKE). I had also drawn a [cover](https://www.deviantart.com/amcarr/art/Fine-Art-of-Poisoning-Cover-167380111) for it.

_November 8 th, 1888_ 1

_It's quite an elaborate scheme, the fine art of poisoning. The dose to comatose, slyly administered. It is not for the frail of heart. The vengeful must play their part: a friend to the bitter end. Or so they say._

The quill scratched against the dairy’s vellum page, the feather tip swirling with each stroke. It twirled the smoke from a lone candle’s flame, making sulphur-scented eddies that mingled with the smell of black ink from the spidery script.2 An antique grandfather clock3 chimed in the distance, nearing the witching hour. It was nearly time.

 _Nice and slow, misfortune will flow._ The figure finished, rose from her seat and closed the leather bound diary. Across the front, gilt letters spelled out _Lorelei Bryony Thanos_. She stashed it inside of the window seat’s cushion. The curtains were then closed, hiding what she was about to do from the unblinking stars.

At a low mahogany table, the contents of a bottle, much like one that would hold snake oil from a travelling salesman,4 was poured into a glass of Chianti. A quick swirl of the glass and no one could tell the difference. A second, untainted glass was poured and both were placed upon a silver tray with the bottle of wine, a bowl of olives, a plate of crackers and a wedge of provolone.5

The candles flickered ominously, as shadows watched in grim silence. Wind danced around the house, howling in desperation. Tree branches clawed the windows. Walking the dark halls of the Victorian upon the hill, the figure carried her sacrificial offering. A lone eye peered from a keyhole, watching the proceedings in rapt silence. At the end of the hall, the figure opened the door and entered.

A low fire burned in the ash-covered grate, and it gleamed in the feminine figure’s blood-red hair. Before the fire sat a middle-aged man on a damask winged-back chair; his face was veiled by the shadows. He was reading, a thick, heavy book with a picture of monkshood carved into the cover. Closing it, he checked his pocket watch. She placed the tray onto the table with the lace doily.

“Frederick, darling.” The red-head said lusciously, as she offered him a small hors d’oeuvre made from the ingredients. He ate it and she handed him the glass of wine. He took it from the younger woman. “A toast.” She said as she raised her own glass. Had he remembered the history of the toast, Lord Frederick would have been a little more wary of his libation. Their shadows danced upon the walls as they toasted and drank.

The next morning, a maid found his corpse, twisted grotesquely, upon the floor.

≈ † ≈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I’m fairly certain I chose the date to be ‘clever’. The number eight resembles the eternity symbol and eternity is mentioned in death euphemisms (eternal life, eternal sleep, launched into eternity). The three eights in the date foreshadow the three deaths in the story.  
> 2 Quills and candles: fountain pens and paraffin (Kerosene) lamps were in common usage (as they had existed for several decades at least) by the 1880s. Maybe it’s for the aesthetic?  
> 3 An antique grandfather clock in the 1880s? Not Impossible. To qualify to be an antique, an item only has to be 100 years old. Longcase clocks were first produced in the late 1600s. However, they were only known as grandfather clocks since 1876.  
> 4 Snake oil: an Americanism from 1927. And in the UK, travelling salesman should be a peddler or a commercial traveller.  
> 5 The Bordeaux-style bottle I portrayed on the cover is not how Chianti would have been bottled in the 1880s. It would have been in (an appropriately-named, given the context,) a fiasco bottle (the round one in a straw basket that you find at Italian restaurants.) Whoops.   
> And no, I don’t recall why I chose Chianti or provolone cheese for that matter. Maybe it was to imply the Coleman’s wealth; the English elite imported expensive Italian goods since at least the mid-1600s (see Samuel Pepys’ diary where he buried a wheel of “Parmazan cheese” to protect it from the Great Fire of London [1666]). Turns out they don’t even go together: they suggest white wines as a pairing for it because all but the most light-bodied red wine will overwhelm the flavour (unless it’s a well-aged provolone). Also crackers should really be biscuits.


	2. Requiem

It was a dull, grey, morning when the undertaker was called, arriving in a coal-black brougham carriage6 led by two ebony thoroughbreds. The doctor had come and gone, but cause of death was still unknown. The widow, one Lady Lorelei Coleman, though composed, wept daintily into a silk handkerchief.

As the body of the late Lord Coleman was carried out from the room7, the eldest of his two daughters, Tynan, looked on stoically, her amber eyes narrowing at the sight. The younger girl, a fragile child named Imogen was being comforted in the kitchens, far away from the scene of death. The room would be locked and left exactly as it was found, the ash-filled fireplace, the damask chair with the book lying on the cushion, and the table with a lace doily.

The body was interned the next day, placed in a coffin and laid in the dark, cold ground next to his first wife. Moss grew at the base of her headstone, trying to reach the engraved _Lilia Tryphena Coleman, April 3, 1851 – October 13, 1881_. A nearby tree, its leaves nearly gone, stood sentinel over their graves. The widow’s carmine hair was covered by a black hat and veil, while the daughters’ glossy, raven hair was left bare8. Lorelei dabbed at her grey eyes with a handkerchief, as the coffin made its descent into the earth.

“Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.” The minister intoned. Tynan threw a single dark crimson rose onto the coffin. Imogen threw a cyclamen 9. Earth then rained down on the wooden coffin, burying it. The marble stone stated _Frederick Barnaby Coleman, February 5, 1846 - November 8, 1888_.

A reception in the parlour, and the overwhelming scent of flowers perfumed the air. “-Nothing in the room that would kill him like that. No food, nothing. It is though he dropped dead.” The undertaker was there, discussing the death with the widow. Amongst the gossiping guests, Tynan floated through like a pale spectre.

“-Has their father’s eyes-”

“-Tynan has his looks-”

“-Imogen looks more like their mother-”

“-Lovely lady. So delicate-”

“-It is a miracle she managed to bring two children into the world-”

“-Neither has said a word-”

“-Must be in shock-”

“-Imogen is such a fragile child-”

“-Lost their mother and now their father-”

“-Poor dears-” Meaningless words that echoed back and forth. Tynan looked up at her father’s solemn portrait. She did have his eyes, as did her sister. If she cut off her raven locks, she could pass as a younger version of him; indeed she was almost his height. Imogen was the one blessed with their mother’s looks. The only thing Tynan knew she inherited from her mother was a ring.

Beside his portrait hung her step-mother’s 10. He had thought they needed a mother, though the woman was only ten years her senior. Her mother’s portrait, which had hung proudly over the mantle for years, was put away in storage. Lorelei could not stand to see it.

Imogen tugged on her sleeve, wan from the unpleasantness. “Tynan, mother is lying.” The girl whispered. Lorelei was _mother_ ; their real mother was always called Mama. Tynan hushed her and escorted her to a secluded corner.

“How do you mean?” She asked, trying not to be overheard.

“She says she had not been in Papa’s study since the afternoon before . . .” Imogen trailed off. Tynan gently coaxed her to finish, “But I saw her bring Papa food late last night when I could not sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Imogen nodded, “I watched through the keyhole.” The woman seemed to be hovering quite near to the girls. Tynan gave her step-mother a wary look.

≈ † ≈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 The carriage that undertaker would have had would have been a horse-drawn hearse.  
> 7 Lots of Victorian mourning customs were straight up ignored in this chapter. The body would have had a ‘wake’, lasting 3 to 4 days (in case the deceased was only comatose), before the burial. I think originally I based this on that scene in Oliver Twist (Dickens) where the titular character was apprenticed to an undertaker. The main difference was that they were collecting the body of a member of an impoverished family, not the local lord who would have no difficulty finding pallbearers.  
> 8 It’s the Victorian period; those girls should be wearing hats especially at a public outdoor funeral.  
> 9 Flower symbolism: dark crimson rose = mourning, cyclamen = tenderness, sincerity and lasting feelings (or resignation, diffidence [timidity]).  
> 10 Any family portraits should be covered (superstition: to prevent the person's spirit from possessing the living). Mirrors should also be covered (superstition: to prevent trapping the deceased's soul in their reflection).
> 
> Funeral homes did exist (the oldest one I found in England was established in 1701), but they only increased in popularity in the 1890s-early 1900s (believed to be more sanitary than having the body in the home. This is also why embalming became popular in the US around this time).  
> Interestingly enough, the first crematorium in England was established only 10 years prior but the first official cremation was not until 1885 (though the first unofficial cremation was a year earlier. The resulting trial gave precedence that, while cremation was not technically legal, it was not technically illegal either. This case would lead to the Cremation Act of 1902).


	3. Peril

Five days had passed. The mornings became frosty as winter approached. As was Lorelei since the reading of Frederick’s will. His personal belongings had been locked away in storage with the portrait of his first wife. Taking cover in her room, Tynan’s solitude was disturbed by a maid offering her a cherry-filled pastry. She shooed the servant away as civilly as she could. The kitchen knew she disliked tart cherries.11

Eventually, she could not handle the dreary confides of the house. Tynan mounted her bay Connemara and went riding for most of the day. Riding back up the drive hours later, the undertaker’s brougham was in front of the house again, as was the doctor’s grey quarter-horse. She pushed her horse the last several metres, past the wrought iron gates and dismounted before the mare came to a complete stop. A footman grabbed the reins and walked the horse so it could cool down.

Tynan noticed nothing as she made a mad dash to the nursery. She pushed past the undertaker’s assistant and made it to the doorway only to watch as the undertaker pulled a white sheet over a too small body. A pale porcelain doll in a red-and-white dress watched the proceedings with glassy eyes and a frozen smile. The strength left Tynan’s legs and the assistant had to support her.

Two maids and the cook12 were ill after sharing Tynan’s unwanted tartlet. She was escorted to the parlour by the only maid, and sister to the most ill of the three, that was still healthy. Imogen had finished almost three-quarters of hers before succumbing. As the small girl’s body was removed from the house, the doctor looked Tynan over as a precaution. She listened quietly from the parlour as she lay upon the fainting couch as the doctor, undertaker and Lorelei discussed what had happened.

“You never expect peril in the nursery.” Lorelei wept calmly into her silk handkerchief.

“Well, it seems a tainted pastry is what caused the girl’s death.” The undertaker said.

“Somehow, the poisonous berries of the red Bryony were mixed in with the cherries used to make the pastry.” The doctor, an amateur botanist in his spare time, explained further.

“An accident? What of the stricken servants?” Lorelei asked.

“They only had one bite each.” The doctor replied, “I expect they will recover. Exactly where were the berries purchased from in the first place? It is serious if the peddler is using bryony berries to increase the amount of produce.”

“I know not. The cook acquired them I believe.” Out of sight, Tynan sat straight up at her step-mother’s deception. And she was not the only person to have caught the lie; the maid also reacted with quiet disbelief. Lorelei had brought them home, after visiting with the barrister13, ‘especially for the girls’. She had also gone on and on about how difficult they were to obtain. “What a dreadful fright for the maid that found Imogen. Poor little dear, she was such a delicate little dish.” Lorelei added.

Later the afternoon, when the doctor left, he did not notice the bottle of quicksilver missing from his bag.

≈ † ≈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 I should have been more specific regarding the type of cherries used in the pie: English Morello (Prunus cerasus). These particular cherries are popular in the UK for uses in cooking (jams, jellies, baked goods, etc.). They are also small, dark red and quite tart which is why the red bryony (Bryonia dioica) berries would not be immediately obvious.   
> 12 For the implied wealth of the characters, there are not nearly enough servants (3 maids, a cook and a footman mentioned). In Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’ (I do realize that it was released 75 years before this story takes place), Mr. Bennet has an income of £2000 a year (a comfortable sum for a gentleman but by no means rich). It is implied that the family has 11-12 servants (housekeeper, 2 housemaids, a footman, butler and coachman are mentioned. Based on passages, one can deduce the existence of a cook, a groom, a gardener and assistant as well as an assistant to the coachman). Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management (1861) suggested five servants for a family with an income of £1000 a year (a cook, 2 maids, a nursemaid and a man servant).  
> 13 In regards to a will, the barrister should probably a solicitor.


	4. Quietus

For the second time in less than a week, Tynan had to attend another funeral of a close relation. Stone figures, praying angels and mourning statues, marking the sites in the churchyard stood as silent witnesses. Ravens cried in the distance as the tiny coffin containing her precious sister clinging to her porcelain doll was lowered into the ground next to their mother. Lilies were tossed in after it, before it too was covered in a blanket of earth. Another headstone, engraved with _Imogen Nessa Coleman, October 9, 1881 – November 15, 1888_ , was erected in the family plot.

The reception was similar to the last. The visitants acted like this was nothing more than a pleasant parlour gathering. This time the gossip centred on if the family was jinxed.

“-Two mysterious deaths in under a week-”

“-Imogen’s was an accident-”

“-Tynan14 is so fortunate-”

“-Came so close to death-”

“-Poor dear-”

Tynan left quickly, not wishing to hear anymore. She sought refuge in the first room she came across. It was her step-mother’s private sitting room. Sitting down heavily upon the window seat, something solid beneath the cushion caught her attention. Actually, the item that caught her attention was hidden within it. She shook the cushion and a book was dislodged: her step-mother’s diary. It fell onto the floor, open.

She picked it up.

≈ † ≈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not mentioned in this chapter, as it had been a child that died the funerary colours would be white not black. Again, Victorian funeral and mourning customs were ignored.  
> 14 As those discussing the daughters are not close family (and the girls are not low class / servants), the use of first names is impolite. As the eldest Tynan would be referred to as Miss Coleman while her sister (whenever Tynan was also present) would be Miss Imogen Coleman.


	5. Requital

That evening found a young woman15 steeping tea. None of the staff that had eaten the contaminated pastry had yet returned to work; indeed one looked to be worsening. Most of the manor’s employees had left for the day16 and she was uninterrupted as she poured the quicksilver concealed in a ruby ring into the teacup. She could not very well be caught carrying around the bottle she took from the doctor’s bag. Placing the teacup on the tray with milk and sugar cubes, she brought it to Lorelei’s room.

She set the tray upon the night table, and with a smile, offered, “Two lumps or three?”

“Three. And a splash of milk.” Lorelei requested. She did, and handed her the tea cup. Lorelei took it and drank deeply, “Mmm, I have always adored bergamot tea.”

The quicksilver was not immediately fatal, but after several days of repeated dosages, Lorelei became sicker and sicker. Her flesh took on a pink tinge, her hair and skin began to shed, and she sweated profusely. As her body swelled, her muscles became weak and she shied away from light. It was affecting her mentally as well, she was unable to sleep, forgetful and capricious. People were saying she had gone quite mad with grief. The doctor was stumped.17

Exactly two weeks after she had poisoned her husband, Lorelei was sitting in a chaise longue before a fading fire. She drifted off occasionally. Her diary, with a quill and inkwell, sat upon the low table before her chair. The short candle was the only other illumination in the room, and it too was flickering out. A chill snuck through the cracks of the house as a thick fog lay heavy upon the ground.

The distant grandfather clock chimed; Lorelei thought she heard it strike thirteen times. She glanced out through the window and rose unsteadily to close the curtains. Something caught her eye in the distance before it disappeared into the fog. She could have sworn . . . no, it was not possible. Shutting the drapery violently, she returned to her seat and cocooned herself in the ivory knit blanket.

All was quiet for several minutes until she heard the steady creak-creak-creak of someone ascending the stairs. Tynan’s room was at the other end of the hall; she would have no excuse to be climbing the front staircase at this time of night. And she was certain the staff had left hours ago. The door to Lorelei’s sitting room creaked open so slowly.

A dark, shadowy figure in men’s clothing stood in the doorway. The apparition was dressed all in ebony. The brim of the bowler hat left the face in shadow and the long, sable greatcoat flapped around the heavy boots. Walking toward her, into the light of the fading candle, gradually revealed the features. Lorelei recognized the face, the dark hair, and the amber eyes.18

“Frederick?!” She fell silent and the only sound in the room was the ticking pocket watch as the coals in the fireplace died.

“Murderer,” The voice was more treble than she remembered. A quicksilver soaked, faded red rag covered her mouth and nose. As she inhaled the fumes, the unblinking amber eyes were last thing she saw. The final utterance she heard was a quote from her diary, “‘Nice and slow, misfortune will flow’. But who will know?” The silhouette asked. Her eyes rolled back in her head and Lorelei gave up the ghost.

≈ † ≈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15I was trying to be clever here again: I never identified the young woman serving tea so audience wonders if it’s Tynan, the healthy maid (which probably would have worked better if I had named her) or both working together.  
> 16Servants would have lived on the property. Also, even if they did live off-property, they would have still been working long after the rest of the household had gone to sleep (and started the next morning long before they arose).  
> 17The doctor, of all people, should recognize mercury poisoning.  
> 18I tried to leave it ambiguous if this is supernatural or mundane: was it the ghost of her dead husband, a mercury-induced hallucination or just her disguised stepdaughter with a grudge? Since the rag remained, I think we know the answer.


	6. Codicil

The undertaker clicked his tongue as he covered the body stiff with rigor mortis. “Three times in two weeks I have been to this home. I am starting to believe all that idle prattle about this family being hexed may not be so irrational.” Lorelei’s right hand was clutching a faded red rag near her face19.

The doctor stood by the door, “What a waste. At least I know where that missing bottle of quicksilver went.” The bottle sat next to the open diary and inkwell upon the low table.

The quill lay in a puddle of ink on the table.

“Affected by the pox20, doctor?” The undertaker quipped.

“It is for my patients.” He reminded tersely. “Miss Coleman even offered to pay to replace it. Lovely girl, it’s such a shame to lose her family this way.” The undertaker and his assistant carried the body out. The spidery script, shakier than previous entries, of the diary’s last entry stared at the ceiling.

_November 22nd, 1888_

_I cannot go on with this terrible regret. So, as of this evening, I will be taking my own life. I can only hope I can be absolved for my trespasses._

_Lorelei Bryony Coleman née Thanos_

≈ † ≈

The funeral was a subdued affair with few attendants21. To attend the sepulture of a suicide was unseemly, though the townsfolk would tittle-tattle about it with relish. The burial took place outside of the consecrated grounds of the churchyard in an unmarked grave. The reception was virtually non-existent.

Later, the Coleman family barrister discussed inheritance with Tynan. “Once you reach your twenty-first birthday22 Miss Coleman, you will be quite well-off.”

“But to come at this price.” She replied sadly. “I am very sorry for the loss of your family.” He looked around the parlour, “As you are rather young, do you have anyone to rely on?”

“My Aunt Etta, she said she will be arriving on the next train. It seems she was never notified of the death of my father and sister.”

“You know, you do not have to hold the estate in demesne. You could find tenants.”

“Oh, come now Esquire, you do not believe in all that hearsay of imprecations? But no, I will not be staying at the estate. Aunt Etta offered to take me in. I will be staying with her in London at least until after the social season23. She is appalled that I have not been introduced to society yet.” She added as an aside, before gesturing to her mourning outfit, “But it will have to wait for at least another year before I can be a debutante.”

“So, shall I look into tenants on your behalf?” He offered.

“That would be appreciated.” They stood, and the barrister glanced over to the two portraits over the mantle, Frederick’s and Lilia’s.

He gave a soft, reminiscing smile, “You have your mother’s smile.” She thanked him and bid adieu.

A few days later found her packing for London with her aunt. Tynan threw a few books into her valise: Hamlet, Macbeth, and the works of E. A. Poe24. She tucked the memento mori photographs of her family into the book of Poe’s work next to ‘The Cask of Amontillado’. It would keep them safe until she found a proper album to store them in. She took a long, sable men’s coat out of her armoire and laid it next to her suitcase.

“Your father’s greatcoat?” Her aunt asked as she examined a dot of ink on the right cuff.

“Oh yes, it is quite warm.” The older woman just shrugged. Packed and ready to go, Tynan made one final request. Donning her father’s greatcoat, she stopped by the family plot and bid farewell to her family.

She walked a little further, to outside the sanctified ground, her mother’s ruby ring on her left hand and her father’s pocket watch ticking in time with her heart. A relative or friend must have provided the little marker above Lorelei’s grave. It only had room for _L B Thanos_ and the date, _Aug. 24, 1861 – Nov. 22, 1888_. She slid out of an inner pocket what she had come all this way to leave. A black rose25 was deposited in front of the tombstone.

Tynan said nothing, just simpered before walking away.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 Bit of a twist here: previously, every time a corpse was discovered in the Coleman house, Lorelei was shown afterward “weeping into a handkerchief”.  
> 20 The pox refers to syphilis.   
> 21 A funeral for a suicide would differ; among other things, the body would not be buried on sanctified ground.  
> 22 In England at the time, twenty-one was when she would come of age and be considered an adult, though she could be married off before that. Again, it should probably be a solicitor.  
> 23 The social season was when young women were ‘introduced to society’ and were able to start entertaining suitors. Most women would debut around 17-18 years old, so Tynan (at 17) would not be considered unusually old if she debuted at 18. A year is the minimum length of time that Tynan would be ‘in mourning’ for her father and sister. However, even after she leaves mourning, she may want to be wary of marriage. She is an heiress in her own right but, once married, her husband would gain control of much of her property.  
> 24 Two tragedies containing ghosts (one with a ghost of a father) and a revenge story (in a book containing most stories of ghosts, murder and revenge) with the well-known family motto: “No one provokes / attacks me with impunity” (Nemo me impune lacessit). What a random detail and not-at-all a very on the nose reveal. The book containing Poe’s works is most likely “The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe. Volume I: Tales” edited by Rufus Wilmot Griswold and printed in 1850 by J. S. Redfield.   
> 25 Flower symbolism: black roses symbolize hatred and death.


End file.
